Baby Grace
by Aurelie Belle
Summary: I've been told that the baby's got me eyes. Hah. To me, there are only three words needed to describe a baby: tiny, bald, and toothless. I couldn't tell two babies apart to save me life, tell ye the truth. So how's I supposed to see the resemblance?
1. Dead Tortuga Wench

  

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Hello, there! Welcome to 'Baby Grace'. This is the first fan fiction I have ever published, and I hope times a million that everyone, if _anyone_, likes it. Please let me know if you do, all reviews from all people are two hundred percent wonderful! Summary: Jack Sparrow returns to Tortuga after a while, only to, to his dismay, discover that he has previously impregnated a wench who died during childbirth. So now dear ol' Jack is stuck with the little squirt. But, it's funny. So, who's complaining? :) Disclaimer:  Little Grace is mine, but everybody else is owned by someone other than me, namely Disney and such, so I'd appreciate it to a great extent if you didn't sue me. Thanks again. _Chapter One: Dead Tortuga Wench_

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I've never known responsibility, and I've never known me own father. So, when I found out that I was a father myself, I didn't quite know where to turn. No one on me crew is a father, can't ask them for tips. Can't ask the damn baby for help, unless you can translate coos and slobbery gurgles into English. 

Grace...that's what her mother called her, God rest her soul. Never liked the name did I. To me, it sounds like one of those names that should belong to one of those stupid, stuck up noblewomen who wear fancy frilly dresses and corsets that make them look like sick little girls, if you ask me. I had no say in naming the child, seeing as I was God-knows where when she was born.

Truthfully, Grace was a bit of an...accident, if you know what I mean. Giselle, her mother, was just another Tortuga wench who decided to keep me entertained one fine evening. The next day, I set sail, never to think about dear Giselle again...

Well, until my return to Tortuga, that is. 

I had just gotten my beloved Pearl back, (And that, my friend, is another story entirely) and I was honestly in extraordinarily fine spirits as my crew docked the ship and we set out for a night of women and rum; in my opinion, the two most exquisite pleasures in the Caribbean.

Now me, being the kind and charming gentlemen that I am, decided to rekindle old times with Giselle, my favorite wench, of whom I had grown quite fond of my past few times in Tortuga, if you know what I mean.

Giselle "worked" in a dark tavern on the southern side of Tortuga. I never, to this day, caught the name of the place. Usually, it's either too dark or I'm too drunk to read the sign naming the bar. So really, what's the point? Anyway, I made my way, slowly, but surely to this nameless tavern; slowly because of the many obstacles that lay in my path, namely pirates who had drunken their weight in rum and had the substance nearly spilling out their ears.

Though not knowing its name, I instinctively knew the tavern's location, having been there so many times, and I let my feet lead me on in there like I owned the bloody place.

The site was in a typical, normal, Tortuga bar state, complete with unconscious men, loud gunshots, kegs flowing with rum, and waitresses never bothering to plug the barrel from which the rum flowed, because as soon as she left, another would come stumbling over, waving his empty mug drunkenly, demanding with a grunt a refill. The man working behind the bar counter looked sober; well, sober_er_ than anyone else in the tavern, so I decided to have a go at communicating with him. I waltzed on up to him, and upon ordering a rum, began to ask questions.

"Seen Giselle around?" I asked casually as I took a grand swig of my rum, looking around.

The man frowned gravely, as if he wanted nothing more than to break my neck and feed me to his dogs; I frowned back, having quite a time trying to figure out this chap. I took his expression as a no, and broke his gaze to stare into my large mug of overflowing brown luscious liquid. I tell you, there's no drink in the world that could make me as happy as that of rum. It's the fruit of the Caribbean.

Honestly, if it weren't for me rum, I really don't know what I'd do. I suppose I could take up brandy? 

Ok, that was a bad lie...I _hate _brandy.

Anyhow, I finished my rum and flipped the angry man a shilling, before hopping off the barstool and looking around for familiar faces.

Astonishingly, I spotted one.

It was Scarlet...another wench; and a friend, if you could even call it that, of Giselle's. I raised an eyebrow and skipped over to the lass, but she looked at me in the same manner as did the man at the bar. I tell you, Tortuga people seem to get unfriendlier every time I pay them a visit. 

"Scarlet!" 

I tensed my face muscles, if that is even possible, and prepared for a smack across the face, as was the custom for some number of wenches in Tortuga; raging tempers, some women had. I mean, honestly, why shake hands when you can express your love with a good righteous slap? 

But, to my dismay, Scarlet wasn't feeling the love that evening, and the slap was forgotten and replaced by a sharp nod and a squint of an eye.

"Jack Sparrow." She acknowledged me. "Haven't seen ye around these parts in a while."

I tried counting the months since I had paid me beloved Tortuga a visit, but I felt my eyes cross as I made the effort. I had no idea what month it was, let alone how long it'd been since my last trip to Tortuga. 

You'd think with all the money we pilfer annually from our treasure finds, we'd have enough to invest in a calendar...

I guessed it'd been about ten months, maybe a year...and I told Scarlet this.

"Aye, I guess it's been about ten months, maybe a year..." said I, as I watched her wipe her fiery red hair out of her eyes.

There's somethin' about those redheads, eh?

"Seen Giselle any place?" I asked, but Scarlet only looked at me evilly again. I remember thinking, what does a man have to do to get a bloody question answered around here?

"What?" I asked when I saw that neither her eyes nor her body had moved since I had asked the question. "_What_?"  I pressed when I still got no reaction.

"Giselle's dead, Jack."

Now, I may be a pirate, but unlike some pirates that I know, I am not a heartless fool, and I remember feeling a strange feeling of guilt punch me in the stomach when my mind settled on the word 'dead'.

"Dead? Whaddya mean dead?" I knew very well what she meant, I'm no idiot or anything, but I wasn't quite sure I had heard the dame correctly, or that she was entirely sober.

"_Dead_," Scarlet accented, "Deceased, gone! Died giving birth to _yer_ child." She added the last bit with a cock of her head, then turned on her heel and walked away, leaving poor old Jack in the dust, and very confused, might I add.

I can assure you that my eyes have never stretched farther open before than they had at that particular moment. I tell you this because they were almost sore when I finally blinked, to my eyeballs' relief, and took my gaze off the door Scarlet had stormed into. I peered down into my rum glass and swished its contents around thoughtfully, wondering if I had had a bit much. When I realized that I was not yet, in fact, intoxicated, I closed my eyes in an attempt to calm down. I then remember cursing slightly under my breath as angry thoughts went through my head.

This is just bloody GREAT.

*** * * ***

**Oh dear, poor Jack. I can tell you that I am already well into the next chapter, so those of you who might maybe want to continue reading this can be expecting an update sometime in the next day or two. I hope you like this one; it's my baby!**

**_Smile!_**

**_-Aurelie Belle _**


	2. Paternal Pirate

_~~~_ _Baby Grace -_ _By Aurelie Belle ~~~_

**Oh my bloody goodness gracious! Four reviews! Well my day is now ecstatically wonderful, thank you so very much to all the reviewers!**

**Thank-yous at the bottom; reviewers have not gone overlooked!**

**~~~**

**Chapter Two**

I do not know how long I stood staring after Scarlet in that crowded bar, but it must have been quite a while, seeing as some of the men that occupied the nearby tables began to wonder if I had turned into a statue.

A child?

"What the bloody hell is she talking about?" said I out loud, followed by outrageous glances from the folk around me, as they silently questioned my sanity.

I finally mustered up enough strength to snap out of my temporary state of shock, and I walked straight forward and barged through the large swinging doors that Scarlet had disappeared through just moments before. 

I found myself in a dark hallway, crowded with passing waitresses and such. I smiled suggestively at a tiny blonde waitress-whore, before receiving a nasty smirk from her and a little "Hmph!" as she walked away from me. I scoffed and leaned against the wall that I was coincidentally standing beside, turning my attention back to the hallway, studying it intently as I tried to blend in. Which wasn't easy, let me be the one to tell you.

Along the wall opposite the one I was leaning against were two other doors that people—well, mainly _women­_—seemed to be coming in and out of at a very fast constant pace. A pretty little stout dame with black hair wearing a yellow, circulation-cutting dress walked by me and I whistled to get her attention. When she saw me, she frowned deeply and I beckoned her to come hither. 

"Um, you're not supposed to be back here, sir." Said the dame, approaching me cautiously, but I smiled my best handsome-pirate smile at her in a most sincere apology, and she blushed furiously with a smile.

"Can ye tell me where _Scarlet_ is, love?" I spoke slowly, as if I were talking to a child, making sure she understood every word above the noise of the jam-packed hallway.

The girl contemplated my question, but then nodded slowly, secretively, looking around carefully like a little chipmunk, as if making sure she wasn't being watched. She then jerked her head towards the door closest to me across the hallway and spoke again.

"Should be in the back of the room. She'll be the one with the baby."

Baby!

"Thank ye kindly, love." I said in my manliest voice. "Have a nice evening."

The dame frowned at me in an unreadable expression. My guess was that she was quite angry that she had taken the time out of her busy business to help me, and I didn't even so much as sleep with her. Women, they always expect too much. I winked at her as I made my way through the hallway of lasses, hoping to make up for it.

I entered the room in which the lass had instructed me, and looked about. Truthfully, it wasn't that large of a room, but it was packed tightly with women. 

I didn't say I was complaining. 

I didn't see Scarlet right away, but as I walked casually towards the back of the room, I caught sight of her holding what was unmistakably a baby.

Baby!

I rushed over to her to surprise her, but Scarlet astonishingly didn't look particularly thrilled to see me again. I glanced at the sleeping, bald, tiny little human—thing—in her arms and looked at her questioningly.

Was that _mine?_

And Giselle, the mind reader, nodded, "She's yers, Jack Sparrow."

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow," said I automatically, but my voice trailed off when reality hit me smack dab in the face. And reality's got quite a right hook, if I may say so. 

I was a father.

A bloody father!

Oh dear...

"I can't take care of a baby!" I screamed, watching the little squirt awaken at the sound of my voice. A few women standing around Scarlet shushed me loudly, but I paid them no mind.

"Well, yer going to have te, Jack." She held the baby out, as if offering it to me, but I backed away in disgust.

"You expect me to take it on – on the _Pearl_ with me? I haven't time, lass! Ye must be jokin'." I looked at her, in hopes that she would, in fact, crack a smile and tell me it was all a big April Fool's Day prank. It may very well have been April. But, as I said before, pirates aren't known for carrying calendars. 

"Jack, do I _look_ like I'm joking?"

I studied Scarlet, yeesh; she certainly _didn't_ look like she was joking. But you can never be too careful with wenches. They're liable to turn on you at any given moment; despicable creatures, they are. But, as a man, it's my responsibility to love them...and pay them afterwards, as is my civic duty. 

I finally let them lay the baby in my arms and I tried to suppress a smile as it yawned and looked up at me with big brown eyes. It really was a cute little thing, now that I had gotten a good look at it. But, I couldn't let Scarlet or any of the other sluts ambling around know that. 

"She looks just like Giselle." Scarlet noted with a smile, "But she's got yer eyes, Jack."

Hah! As if I could tell. All babies essentially look exactly the same to me. There are only three words needed to describe a baby: tiny, bald, and toothless. 

I cradled the small baby in my arms and it smiled as it reached its arm up towards my face as it cooed and giggled at me. The stupid tyke was laughing at me!

At once, all of the nearby whores rushed to my side and began to loudly talk to the baby in high-pitched voices; very non-sexy, might I add. I must say, I believe that moment was the first time I had ever been displeased about a mass of wenches round me.

What is it with women and babies? They all turn into motherly loons around the little things, or so I've noticed. I thought about dropping the kid and running to avoid injury from the mob of women around me, but I thought it might lead to further complications if I killed it, so I finally jumped out of the circle of women and, still holding the baby, warned the wenches with my eyeballs to stay the hell away.

"Scarlet, love. Let's be mature about this situation, aye? Why can't ye keep it here? Or give it away?"

Scarlet rolled her eyes at my "maturity" as she scoffed.

"_Give_ the baby away?" She repeated. "Right, Jack. And she's not an _it. Her _name is Grace."

_Grace?_ Seriously, of _all_ the names of _all_ the languages in _all _the world, Giselle picked _Grace_? 

"Can I change its name?"

"Not unless ye want to screw her up more, Jack. Would you please stop thinkin' about yerself? The child's lost her mother, never known her father, spent ten months being raised by whores in Tortuga, and now no one wants her. How do you think Grace feels about that, eh?"

Stupid Scarlet. She was just confusing the child more; even I knew that it couldn't talk yet, therefore could not understand that everyone around her was fighting over who had to take her.

"I think she feels..." I tried thinking up something very intelligent to say, which is no easy task for Jack Sparrow, believe me. "Sad?"

Good one, Sparrow. Scarlet will definitely see you in a new light because of that statement, I said to myself. 

Sure enough, Scarlet's face turned a deep shade of, well, scarlet, and she stomped up close to me so that her pointy nostrils were just inches from my face. Her breath smelled like brandy. I _hate_ brandy. 

"Careful now, don't want to scare the baby with that face, love." I smiled as I tried backing away to avoid her stench, which only made her angrier.

"Jack Sparrow, yer despicable! And like it or not, that child is _yer_ child and yer _not_ leaving this island without it!"

I've never been severely shrieked at, but the tone of Scarlet's voice was pretty close to a shriek itself, so I decided not to say anything more as she stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind her, leaving me, the kid, and the other wenches chastised. 

The other women, however, did not stay quiet for long. They, too, began to drain out of the small room until it was completely empty except for me. And the kid, of course.

Realizing that I didn't have much of a choice, I sighed at Grace as she looked up at me as if I were a crazy person. 

"Alright, ye can stop starin' now. I'm yer father. Happy?" 

I half-expected it, or, excuse me, _she_, to answer back, she was studying me so intently. I grumbled when I realized that there was little hope for me getting drunk and/or getting laid tonight, so I trudged out of the room to the still-crowded hallway, where I received inquisitive looks from wenches who thought I might be a kidnapper. 

I felt very, _very_ out of place walking through a teeming bar in Tortuga with a ten-month old child in my arms. As hard as I tried, I could not look manly while doing it, so I gave up and just tried to hide the thing as I smiled at some pirates who were laughing at me behind my back, I could almost _feel_ their sneers. Grrr. 

I wandered around the bar until I spotted the back of Gibbs' head, my fat, graying, trusty first mate, ordering a drink by himself at a booth. I smiled and decided to make a little fun of my own, since it obviously wasn't coming for me that night.

Cradling the baby in my arms gently, I walked over to his table and, without making eye contact, sat down. I could sense the confused vibes coming from Gibbs as I began to play with the baby's barely-there hair and talking to it in baby talk.

"Goo goo, ga ga! There's me wittle bitty girlie wirly! Ye're a cute one! Yes ye are!"

The baby, although obviously not getting the prank, played along, nonetheless with little giggles and gurgling noises. 

When I finally stole a glance at Gibbs, my cheeks turned redder than Scarlet's had, and I came to the god-awful realization that God, or the gods, or anything, _anywhere, _with any source of power able to be used against me whatsoever was definitely _not_ on my side tonight.

It wasn't Gibbs.

Now, I'm sure I looked like a complete idiot, and I hoped that the poor, confused Gibbs look-alike thought that I was inebriated, but I couldn't read his expression in the least. And, quite frankly, it was a very awkward situation, even for me.

"Well!" I said, as enthusiastically as I could, acting as if nothing had happened. "Thank you for yer time." 

And I got up and walked away. 

I mean, honestly, what else can you do in a situation such as that? Strike up a conversation? Buy the man a drink? Whatever could have been done is in the past, and I try not to think about what kind of a reputation I now have in that man's poor, confused mind. 

Once out of the bar, I sauntered back down to the docks with the tiny lass in my arms still and began to notice that she hadn't cried or whimpered or anything since I had been introduced to her. I began to believe that she _was_ my child, because if anyone can pass down tough genes, it's me. Let me tell you.

My crew drew straws earlier that evening to see which two unlucky men would get to stand guard at the _Pearl_ while their fellow pirate mates were out doing God-knows what with God-knows who. That fine evening, two pirates – a youngin, Tom Brule, and an old geyser that we called Schmitt, got the short straws.

They were slouching, not doing a remarkable job. But, the ship hadn't been taken over and steered out of the bay by reckless scallywags, so I wasn't completely displeased with the men. 

However, as soon as their dear captain appeared, the two straightened up, if you could even call Schmitt's posture _straight_ at the age of sixty-something, and did a funny little salute-nod number. Tom was very fidgety, as he always was, as though he had ants in his knickers, and Schmitt looked half-dead, as always. I barely acknowledged the men as I walked past them with little Gracie in me arms. A conversation with those two men proved to be more difficult then finding the Isla de Meurta...that is, if you didn't already know where it was.

As soon as I stepped upon the decks of the _Pearl_, I felt at home again and it didn't matter that some wench had dumped her baby on me, or that I wasn't getting drunk, as I should have been doing. It was nigh, and the stars twinkled in the enormous mass of deep blue that was the sky. I sighed contently and looked down at the kid, who was falling asleep now that the noise from the city had been lost. 

Entering my cabin, I looked around for a place to put the baby for the night. If I let it sleep in my bed, it might've rolled off or something, so I decided against that idea. My eyeballs searched the room quite desperately, for my left arm was growing a bit tingly as the weight of the baby for a long period of time began to tire it. 

My eyes fell upon an empty rum crate. And me, the resourceful man that I am, decided to make a makeshift crib for the lass to sleep in. With one arm clutching the kid and one arm stuffing pillows into the crate, I managed to actually make a bed that would have actually looked comfortable if I were five feet shorter. 

But the space was all that was needed to satisfy Grace, and I lay her down gently, surprised at my tenderness, and watched her yawn and drift off into a state of infant happiness. 

I have a _baby_, I said to myself. 

Little did I know, those words and the reality of the truth to them would not hit me until early the next morning.

_Very _early the next morning. 

**~~~**

Voila, and that's all for right now. Sorry if it seemed a bit rushed, and remember that constructive criticism is always welcome. 

**Thank Ye's **

pandagrrl – My first reviewer! Thank you so very much for the review. And thank you very much for the note on the summary. I had actually based the summary on Jack and Scarlet's conversation, in this chapter, when she is persuading Jack to take the baby and she notes that "she has his eyes", but I realize that readers who hadn't read the second chapter could become confused by this, so I changed it. Thank you so very much!

Erica Dawn – May I just say, beautiful pen name! I had a great aunt named Erica Dawn, and she was such an amazing woman. Thank you so very much for the review, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

That's Very Interesting – Jack is so cute when he says that line, don't you think? Glad you like the voice I've given Jack, I'm trying to be funny and serious at the same time, if that makes any sense whatsoever. I sure hope you have fun reading this story. More soon!

Beregond'sGirl – Thanks for the tip! I realize the language is a bit odd, or off, whichever you prefer, but that's the way I see Jack...a bit odd, but extremely lovable and somewhat mature when he needs to be, like when he becomes a father for instance. If my writing becomes not understandable, please let me know because I want this story to be the best it can be. Thanks for reviewing :)

Quote of the Day!

"You gotta take the good with the bad, smile with the sad. Love what you've got, but remember what you had. Always forgive, but never forget. Learn from mistakes, but never regret." 

Apologies, I know that was really random. But I learned this quotation today and fell in love, and I thought I'd share it with you fine folks! Smile!

-Aurelie Belle 


	3. No Easy Task

**_~~~Baby Grace – By Aurelie Belle~~~_**

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**Ten reviews? Am I dreaming? That's _amazing!_ I am absolutely thrilled, and my mouth nearly dropped open when I saw that some reviews were _very_ long! Long reviews are _so_ much fun to read. Thank you to the reviewers! You all are my heroes! **

**Once again, Thank Ye's are at the bottom. You really think I would be all cocky and not personally thank the reviewers? Please, I'm not _that_ mean...even if I do _love_ to leave you all in suspense. :)**

**~~~**

**Chapter Three**

 Now, in all honesty, I don't very often dream. Usually, I'm too drunk for my mind to even consider dreaming, so consequently, it is once in a blue moon that I get to experience one. Thanks to the crying babe that was dropped in my care, against my wishes, I didn't acquire the inebriated feeling of which I love so much that fine evening. Now, God must not hate me entirely, or he must have felt bad for inflicting such a stressful night upon my wee soul, because he blessed me with a dream that I enjoyed very greatly. For the first part of it, anyways.

The picture I was seeing was nigh on perfect. There I was, lying upon the white sands of a beach that was unmistakably the most beautiful one in the Caribbean. Yes, all Caribbean beaches look very much alike, but this was _my_ dream, and therefore the most beautiful, savvy? Now, where was I...

Oh, yes. So I was lying upon the beautiful white beach, and that's not even the best part neither. Swooning all around me from every God-given angle were tens upon twenties of the most beautiful wenches of any I have ever seen in reality. Rather than those too-tight to even attempt to breathe dresses that wenches are often seen wearing, they were sporting large seashells that covered—well, almost covered—their breasts and on the lower half of them was nothing but a flowing grass skirt. It was most definitely a dream come true.

And, to my surprise and sheer happiness, Giselle the dead wench appeared amongst the many whores surrounding me. She looked strikingly wonderful in _her_ seashells, and I remember licking my lips hungrily. I also remember saying, "Giselle! Yer alive!" – but Giselle didn't answer, she only smiled that smile in which I still think about to this day...that radiant beam of hers. Her bright red lips were growing very close to mine, and I closed my eyes waiting for her to lay a big one on my anxious mouth. But, this is where the dream turned very strange indeed. Rather than kissing me and having her filthy way with me, as I was hoping she would do, her lips surpassed mine, and the next thing I knew, I could sense that her mouth was very near my ear. Before I could question the doings of the ghost of Giselle, I heard a very odd noise that made me jump.

_"Wah!"_  

"What's that all about, Giselle?" I turned my head to stare at Giselle, but she only continued to make that wretched sound over and over again; extremely annoying, may I point out. 

"_Wah!"_

It didn't stop! I tried putting my hand over her mouth to stop that aggravating nuisance of a wail, but I felt nothing. This was when I began to draw conclusions in my mind, questioning silently whether or not I was _really _on a white beach with a thousand whores and the ghost of Giselle. 

Instead of allowing me to put _my_ hand over _her_ mouth, Giselle cupped a hand over my mouth. Her hand was much bigger than I remembered, because it enveloped the entirety of my face. 

At this point, the dream had turned into a nightmare; one in which I was determined to escape from. I couldn't see, breathe, or speak. And the noise didn't stop...

And then, I woke up...

...and took quite a large gasp of air when I turned to my side. I realized at that moment that the object that had been preventing my inhalation was _not_, in fact, Giselle's over-sized hand. The inflictor was no other than my trusty feather pillow that I had rolled into during the happenings of my nighttime drama.

_All right,_ I think to myself._ So, I'm back to reality. No more beaches, no more Giselle, no more whores._ __

But, _why_ didn't the wailing stop?

As I have come to be sure of, I am most definitely not the most intelligent man on the face of the planet, and my mind had a tendency to not function properly in the wee hours of the morning, so the continued noise of the "_Wah"_ ing racked my brain and brought me to my knees. _God!_ _If yer gonna take the dream away, at least take the nightmare part with it!_

I shook my head and covered my ears, but nothing would drown the sound out. It was growing louder by the minute. If I didn't do something, it'd wake up me entire crew, and that wouldn't be pretty, 'specially after a wild evening in Tortuga, let me tell you. 

A single glance at the rum crate on the opposite side of the room brought my thoughts and suspicions to rest for a moment only. 

"Oh." I muttered, "It's only the baby."

I glanced out the porthole window above my bed. It was not yet fully light outside, but the sun peaked over the horizon, turning the once-navy blue sky into a gorgeous light blue. I didn't care for the beauty. It was still night, and I deserved some shut-eye.

Disgruntled, I lay back down and curled up with my blankets and the pillow that had made an attempt to suffocate me. I shoved the pillow over my head to drown the baby out. Once again, realization hit.

_The baby?!_

At that moment, every memory from the previous night rushed back into my brain like an ocean tide coming onto the beach during high-tide. I remembered everything, which doesn't happen often after a night in Tortuga, I assure you. I remembered Scarlet, I remembered the evil man at the bar, and I remembered distinctly the expression of that Gibbs look-alike when I waltzed up to him and proceeded to talk like a baby. I admit, it's a hard expression to forget. But, in the time I took to think things over from the evening before, Grace's cries had amplified at least a hundred times. 

Her wail was no longer a wail anymore, but was growing very close to a shriek. Afraid that my crew might maroon me if I woke them from their slumber, I decided that my first duty as Daddy Jack Sparrow would be to feed the thing and put it back to sleep. Quite an important thought occurred to me just then...

What do babies eat?

Now, if you're thinking that I am a brainless dimwit right now, stop and think for a moment. Do _you_ remember what your mum fed you when you were a tyke? Her breast milk, of course! But, a glance down at my chest convinced me that that plan would almost certainly be a failure.

_All right, think, Sparrow, think. You were a baby yourself once. What would YOU like for breakfast if YOU were a bald, toothless brat?_

Then, it came to me – my mind never lets me down.

I have a little saying, you see: When in doubt, rum is _always_ the answer. No matter the circumstances. Always rum. Drink yer heart out.

If rum is the answer to everything, why wouldn't it be the solution to this dilemma?

Pulling myself out of bed was a surprisingly easier task without a hangover. I got down on my hands and knees and shoved a hand underneath my bed, feeling an assortment of objects I didn't care to further examine. My hand finally hit a bottle of the Caribbean's finest rum, and I smiled as I pulled it out and realized that it was half full.

Task two. Ah, once again, I am no idiot. I was, and still am, well aware that babies do not eat with forks and knives. Though neither do I, so we're not on _completely_ different wavelengths, right? The small problem is that babies' mouths are so bloody small, smaller than the opening of the bottle, that any attempt to make it drink like a regular human being would result in severe pointless wastage of the Caribbean's nectar! The question was: how do I feed the baby without watching a whole slew of rum trickle down its little chin?

For such a little tyke, Grace certainly did have a pair of lungs. The cry that was once only approaching a shriek had become one of the loudest shrieks I had ever heard. I had to get the kid to shut up somehow. My ears were beginning to ring. 

So, I walked over to little Grace, (Mother of God, how I _hate_ that name!) and when she saw me, she gave a little hiccup, but she didn't stop crying. With a little smile, I held up the bottle of rum and swished it around in front of her tiny little pea-sized nose. She looked at her dear old daddy like he was an insanely crazed loon.

Not such a dumb kid after all!

"Yer hungry, aren't ye, little love?"

She didn't answer, well not with words, but her cries were slowly subsiding when she realized that she had, in fact, gotten my attention.

"Shh! Do ye want to wake me whole crew up?" I flailed my arms about and held a finger to my lips.

She was beginning to look a bit frustrated, and her once pink face was now turning a deep shade of purple. Fearing she may explode, I searched for ways to feed the child without drowning her in the substance.

And then, another light bulb went off in that smart head of mine. I popped open the rum bottle and peered down into the beautiful golden liquor. After taking a large sip, (I couldn't resist) I tilted the bottle so the luscious liquid was very near the mouth of it. Dipping my finger into the rum, I managed to wet my entire forefinger, and I stared hungrily at it as I pulled it out of the bottle and watched it ooze down my finger. I licked my lips.

The once frustrated expression on my daughter's face was now a look of almost fear as she eyed my finger and silently questioned how in God's name I was going to attempt to feed her. 

"Now," I began, "I am not sure how clean this finger is. But it will have to do, as I for some reason don't seem to have any baby bottles lying about."

I put my rum-drenched finger to her miniature pink lips, and she wrinkled her tiny nose at the smell of it.

"Don't be picky! Eat it!"

As if obeying me, she finally opened her mouth and allowed the rum to settle into her mouth. I have to tell you, I was half-expecting her to throw up, or cry and push my finger out of her mouth. Rum's not friendly the first time you drink it, even I'll admit it.

But, Grace sucked thoughtfully on the finger, looking up at me with tear-stained cheeks and puffy little brown eyes. I couldn't help feeling a surge of pride in myself: I was actually feeding a baby! And as a bonus, I had gotten it to stop crying. 

At that moment, I was very nearly sure that she _had_ to be my flesh and blood, because any rum drinker at ten months old must be related to me in some sense; whether it was genetically or not was besides the point entirely. The child was drinking rum! Bloody hell!

When she was finished, I dipped my finger into the rum again and repeated the process until she looked rather full; or maybe it was drunk. Anyway, I thought for a moment she was going to fall asleep or pass out or something, but her eyes filled up with tears again and she opened her mouth very, _very_ wide indeed, and I shut me ears preparing for the worst.

My preparation wasn't good enough, however, because the thing screamed so loudly, I'm convinced that natives in South Africa and Southeast Asia were perfectly capable of hearing her cries.

"SHH!" I tried shushing her, but since when did women pay me any mind? 

"What do you want _now?_" I yelled, "I fed you! What more do you bloody _want_ from me?" This kid was beginning to break me. When suddenly, an angel walked in the room, and a sleepy angel at that. It was Gibbs.

"Cap'n." Gibbs nodded, one eye closed, "What's all that racket?" 

I pointed at the screaming kid, and Gibbs opened his other eye and produced an expression that was hovering somewhere between confusion and exhaustion. He winced as Grace's sounds hit his ears, and I smiled sympathetically. No doubt this was a lot harder with a hangover. 

"What's that?" Gibbs walked over to where I was standing and stared at the crying tyke in the rum crate. 

"It's a baby."

"I _know_ it's a baby. Whose baby?"

"My baby."

"When'd ye have a baby?" Gibbs scratched his furry little balding head.

"When I impregnated Giselle." I said simply. 

"When'd ye impregnate Giselle?"

"Well, how'm _I_ 'sposed to know?" I answered truthfully. Quite honestly, it was hard to keep track.

Gibbs looked lost in thought for a moment, but he turned back to me a moment later, still in a daze.

"Well, yer not gonna _keep_ it, are ye?" 

"Seems I don't have much of a choice, dear Gibbs. Scarlet won't take it fer herself."

Gibbs didn't look in a state to argue with me, and so he let it go for the time being. Seems to me, his only interest was getting it to shut up so he could go back to bed.

"Well, why's it cryin'?"

I shrugged, "I fed it."

"What'd ye feed it?"

"Rum."

"Rum?" Gibbs growled in a surprised question, "Ye can't feed a baby rum!"

"Well, why not? She ate it. Or drank it, rather."

"Well, of course she ate it, she was hungry! Now ye have to burp 'er."

"Burp her?" I exclaimed, "How—why can't she do it herself?"

Exasperated, Gibbs rolled his eyes and trudged over to where Grace was laying. He picked her up gently and laid her over his large shoulder. Instantly, Grace's sobs settled and became nothing louder than a whimper. Gibbs patted her on the back and made a little jumpy-motion with his knees so the baby and him were bouncing up and down. It was really a sight to see.

Then, Grace let out a little belch that was quite a funny sound coming from such a little person, and Gibbs set her back down in her makeshift bed. He then looked at me, and I looked at my feet, feeling rather bashful and stupid. Burp her. Why didn't I think of that?

"Where'd ye learn so much about babies?" I questioned Gibbs. 

"My sister had a kid when I was 'bout twenty or so. Taught me a lot 'bout kids. They really aren't so bad."

Hm. Fancy that. Gibbs likes kids. 

"Thanks, dear Gibbsy. You can go back to sleeping." I glanced at Grace, then back at Gibbs, who thanked me with his eyes.

Gibbs yawned and, looking sleepily thrilled, turned and plodded heavily out of my quarters. I looked back at Grace. She was wide-awake now, and I silently prayed that she wouldn't attempt to scream again. But she only stared back at my with wide-eyed wonder, and I decided to talk to it. 

"Yer a hassle, ye know that?" 

No response, obviously. But, assuming she had a clue what I was going on about, I went on...

"So. Yer a baby, are ye? How's that goin?"

More staring.

"Well...It's been a while since I was a baby myself, so I can't relate much."

I couldn't believe it! I was talking to a baby who didn't understand a word I was saying!

Grace's eyes suddenly went from wide-eyed to rather tired, and I silently praised myself. Whatever I was doing, it was working! So, I kept talking...

"Yes, well. I'm the Captain of the _Black Pearl. _'Spose you'll be seein' a lot of it, seein' as though yer goin' to be growin' up round here."

I got up and began to move around. I have a tendency to get lost in thought when I'm talking about my beloved ship. She's my pride and joy, and I fought long and hard for her. I told Grace this.

"I'm never givin' her up." Said I, "No chance at all. If Captain Barbossa decides to come back from the dead and take me _Pearl _away, so be it. Because he won't get it, ye hear?"

I walked back over to Grace, and I almost choked.

She was asleep.

I had put that baby to sleep. I could have cried. Her little hands were curled in little loose fists beside her face. Her tiny eyelids were closed, and she was motionless except for the steady breathing of her chest as it moved up and down at a constant pace. 

I reached for the rum. This was a time to celebrate! But, I thought better of it. I was a father now, and I felt extraordinarily responsible for her life at that moment in time. 

I corked the bottle of rum and set it down on the table beside the rum crate.

"Goodnight, love."

I climbed back into bed and, after nuzzling with my blankets, closed my eyes.

Whatever I dreamt after that, I don't remember. But, it didn't matter. Reality at that moment was better than my dreams.

~~~

**A bit mushy, yes. But, what did you think? Please review this :)**

**Thank ye's!**

**pandagrrl**** – I don't know if I've said this before, but one of my main goals is to get Jack's character down in my writing, so that compliment was among the greatest you could have given me! Thank you so very much for that. Sorry again about the confusing summary. I'm glad it wasn't rushed, though this chapter may be. Apologies for that also. Thanks for reviewing, you're wonderful!**

**Erica Dawn**** – We all know Cotton won't have much to say about this situation, though if he still had his tongue, I believe he'd still be at a loss for words! Thanks bunches :)**

Breezy – You make good points, and you've got a sharp eye. But, don't worry. I won't let you down. Maybe I do have something up my sleeve. You'll just have to find out...

**pendragginink – Thank you for reviewing. I do have something that will happen later, so don't worry about all that. Another thing, the ten-month baby is able to sit up, but so far the baby hasn't sat up at all in the story, so I apologize if that misled you. ****And, I've never been a mother before, so bear with me on the age thing. Gracias :)**

Fewer Brain Cells Than a Garden Hose – Thank you so much for the compliments! And sorry it took so long for me to finish this chapter. You made my day!

**And that's all for now. Hope you liked it...read and review! Love ya!**

Aurelie Belle 


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